


Kirrisat

by Recidiva



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angry Garrus Is Angry, Judgey Thane Is Helpful (and yummy), M/M, Smut, Some People Just Need Killin'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8042692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recidiva/pseuds/Recidiva
Summary: This is a birthday gift for Felinafullstop who said she’d like some Garrus/Thane smut.  Since these guys are great together and I haven’t gotten a chance lately to get them together because they’ve been separately and together busy with an opinionated and difficult nerd (typecasting) it’s a shame and it’s time to fix that!
So for Felina, who has changed the course and river of my stories and thoughts, who is proof that love of story changes reality, that friendship has nothing to do with location, who from Candy Bards to Elcor Strippers, has made me laugh and we’ve made each other cry because there’s RANGE here…
I love you!  Happy Birthday!





	Kirrisat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Felinafullstop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felinafullstop/gifts).



“I smell sex and candy.  
Who's that lounging in my chair?  
Who's that casting devious stares  
in my direction?”

Marcy Playground – “Sex and Candy”

++++++++++++++++++++++

There were few things that broke through Garrus’s wall of pain and obsession, each moment bent on finding Sidonis. If that faded there was always the burning of his face to remind him. No matter which way he turned, the dressing obstructed his vision, each movement of his tight jaw a painful stretch and pop and the feel of unaccustomed… things under his hide, be they cybernetics or impotence.

Yeah, Shepard was alive and that was one of those weird miracles that backlit his own lack of miracles. Shepard had saved his life, the man marching back down the bridge where Garrus had shot everyone else that tried to cross. Shepard created surreal in his presence, Garrus’s mechanical habit of shooting had only been interrupted by loading concussive rounds. Shepard had seemed to rise like a phoenix, something of human myth, from the corpses of his squad, burned metaphorically… into his mind, into his hide, into his visor.

Shepard wasn’t exactly stalling on tracking down Sidonis, but they definitely had other things to do, Garrus pacing and adrenaline surging when they’d docked on the Citadel. Instead they’d picked up a Drell assassin, then headed off the Citadel, Garrus trying to keep his resentment under control.

Shepard himself didn’t really register on Garrus’s radar much, the man scouting the ship and chasing after his newly recruited. Garrus barely managed to keep himself all that civil in Shepard’s presence, the man being his path to the closure… let’s call it what it really was… the revenge he wanted. The revenge he needed.

At least he got to shoot things. A lot of things. 

He now had one distraction, one thing that was starting to break through the wall of pain and obsession. 

Thane Krios.

Where Garrus was overt pain and obvious obsession, Krios was measured and seemingly sane in a way that didn’t seem possible in the midst of this storm.

And the man smelled really good. Really, really good. It was distracting.

Not bad distracting.

There had been a moment on a mission, one of those endless and faceless places he could barely remember except for blood and heat sinks. Garrus imagined each target as Sidonis and that narrowed his focus, got his heart and adrenaline pumping, and he had to rely on the cold distance of sniper training.

He was so accustomed to being at the back of the melee that he hadn’t realized there was a cul-de-sac behind them with a merc who thought she was clever. She was… almost… clever, and Garrus had almost had his throat cut.

The woman’s hand came around his cowl and an Omni-Tool blade made itself known. Then Thane Krios happened. Thane could have easily shot her, but instead while Garrus was being surprised and unable to maneuver easily with his cramped bulk behind low cover, Thane had pulled the woman away from Garrus and used her Omni-Tool blade to cut her throat. Red human blood sprayed instead of Turian blue. Thane held her upright until she bled out, gazed at Garrus with an acceptance of the intimacy of the moment, Garrus speechless.

Thane lowered her to the ground but didn’t look at her, instead looked at Garrus.

Distracting.

No words from the Drell. But Spirits, did that man smell good. Even better splattered with blood.

Two days later he’d returned to his cabin to a…

Gift.

A distinctly Drell-scented gift. He knew immediately that it had to be from Thane, some odd Drell and Turian alchemy that was part sculpture and part… what?

It appeared to be preserved meat in some method he didn’t know, but he didn’t doubt it was intended to be eaten. Polished and aromatic, something that might look like a flower with petals if Turian mythology didn’t provide the right shape. Kirrisat. Splashes of blood and triumph, drops and curls representing the mythical result of an overwhelming win in stylistically spilled blood. The shape of success.

He broke off a petal and…

Oh Spirits that was the best thing he’d ever tasted and there was a numbing…

He chewed slowly and thought… Thane must have put his own venom in the damned thing. Garrus had been exposed to venom before… but this was different, strong hallucination, fast and sharpened hunger, sharpened sense of scent.

That was a very… effective Drell.

And now there were more things under his hide.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO 

Thane Krios might be subtle but Garrus was a much more straightforward person. He thought and he decided and within a day he had presented himself to Life Support, after considering what to say.

Don’t ask “Did you leave me edible symbolism?” Because they both knew the answer to that. Garrus had two facts and this was less about getting answers than giving them. Thane wanted him. It was part of his scent, something a Turian would know. Saving his life in the field and the most delicious thing – made of Drell and Turian sources – he’d ever had was an excellent distraction.

Garrus did not say hello and didn’t attempt to be shy or curious. He looked at the Drell with possessive intent until Thane stepped aside, also without a greeting or socially acceptable ritual of same. A smile and dark eyes.

Beyond the obvious, Garrus did not know what to say, really, a reciprocation of interest had been presented. They sat across the gleaming table and Garrus said only “You wanted my attention?”

“Yes.”

“You have it.”

“That is good.”

“Why?”

“There is a rhythm and ritual to such things, if you would indulge me. I know little of you; I would like to know more. I know you are an extraordinary man. I know you are in pain. I do not know why, but I would like to.”

“You want to know my story?”

“Among other things. I shall tell you some of my story. If you wish to tell me yours, please do. I do not wish to take without giving of myself.”

“Like your venom in a Kirrisat?”

“To begin as I intend to continue, yes.”

“You drugged me?”

“Yes. Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes.”

“Then we can both continue. You are a straightforward and honest man, Garrus, by habit I am not. I am more circuitous and circumspect. Much of that is the force of my training, the force of the life I led. I find you attractive. Turian senses should tell you much about me. I wished to provide a path to confirmation.”

“Definitely that.”

“Good. Hoping for a straightforward and honest response to my circuitous and circumspect approach, I am gratified. Something troubles you, and as I know some but not all of what occurred on Omega, I wish for you to tell me. I know enough to feel your trials echo a chord struck in myself, but I do not know the form your response would take. I would like to help you resolve your problem.”

“His name is Sidonis.”

“We are on a ship with a Commander who has wider, if not greater issues weighing upon him. Your issue is great and I believe you struggle with the spectrum of justice or revenge.”

“Sometimes they’re the same thing.”

“And sometimes they are not. What I can provide you with is opportunity upon that spectrum. I can tell you my habits and solution and you can choose a course of action that Shepard likely cannot or would not provide.”

Garrus nodded, wanting to hear it the same way he wanted to take another bite of hybrid Kirrisat, the way he had taken bite after bite until he wanted more.

“Forgive my presentation. I wish to tell the story without emotional content. I wish for this moment to be about your emotional content. My choices, my past have been already made. I have lived upon the spectrum of justice and revenge for many years. I have my own opinions and they vary depending upon circumstances. I will offer options and opinions and if you choose, my help in execution. I do not wish to tell you what to do, but to grant support and opportunity whatever your path. I was trained and conditioned to kill without emotional or intellectual judgment. If I was to experience anything, satisfaction with duty was the only thing allowed. I excelled at duty and satisfaction in it. My body as a weapon did as was willed by the Hanar. I was a conduit and a tool and I felt nothing more for my kills than a hammer would feel about driving in a nail. I do not wish to insult you by speaking of the difference between satisfaction or glee, duty or drive, justice or revenge as absolutes. You are a man with several years of military training and C-Sec training, your opinions about life and death and your place in it have been determined. What you seek is a path and that I can provide. When I began to choose my own targets, I began to feel things other than duty and satisfaction. As I made the choice, as I was not merely a tool but also the will wielding that tool, I took not less but more satisfaction in knowing all facts and circumstances of a kill, not merely the mechanics but the reasons why someone might deserve to die according to my judgment. Taking away the will of the Gods was supposed to rob my kills of meaning, but instead I invested them with my own meaning. Duty and satisfaction became redefined. My wife was tortured and murdered by associates of my former targets in retaliation for my actions. I took it upon myself to redefine duty and satisfaction once again. I found the people that killed her. I asked each one what had been done to her and by whom, I determined how each mark on her body had been inflicted. I took pain, fear and death in tribute in Her name, in My name despite my training and cautions against feeling any way about a kill. I found that each death in Her name, each mark delivered was Right. Right for me. For her likely not, but the choice was not hers to make. She would have chosen to live, to forgive, but for them to take that choice from her and from me, from our son, could not be answered by giving her murderers those things. For you I do not know what is a Rightness in Your name. That is your choice. I have made my choices and I would do it again without hesitation. She might have forgiven them, but they took her voice and consent. She could not grant forgiveness to them or to me, but I prefer exacting retribution in their coin and not hers. Their voices remained, their meaning and symbols still lingered, hers did not. I was, I am, willing to bear that burden. Rightness might choose to take the math of violence and make my answer zero in response. I choose instead a multiple of the original total of pain exacted. What remained to me was the math of the murderer, and I was dealing with murderers, not their victims. I would not allow them to create other victims or make me into one as they might have hoped. The wisdom of the side of Right might demand that you forgive, but that you could have done on your own had you had the inclination. The missed voices of the dead are what you hear, and you have something to say, something to do. Your voice on the subject also wishes to be heard and heeded by their murderer.”

“I remember each mark on each member of my squad as I put them into body bags. You had your wife’s injuries to inflict on several people. I have the injuries of several people to inflict on one man.”

“Tell me everything you know of him. I shall find him for you. You shall do what you wish with him and there shall be no remaining evidence. He shall cease to exist, having traveled off whatever place he resides, never to be seen again.”

“Why would you do this for me?”

“We may die soon. You may give your life for greater good. You have served greater good for a lifetime. If what you have seen and what you know means you are preoccupied with bringing the end of a man who has provoked your judgment, I have the skills required to grant that. I have not served greater good for much of my life, perhaps I do not serve greater good now or when I took life in retribution for Irikah. I do know that I wanted that opportunity, I created it and I took it. You are denied that as you wait on this ship for your fate. You are a man of law and duty, and your place here has denied you the path to lawlessness in fulfillment of that duty if that is your choice. I am a man of lawlessness. My gifts are few, but they are effective.”

Garrus smiled at that “I have never been asked out on a date so effectively.”

“Perhaps there will be time later for you and I to know each other better, to spend time. There is in essence a fire to put out and I understand your attention turns that way.”

Since he was a man of straightforward honesty, Garrus acknowledged that reality and his preoccupation, told Thane as quietly and controlled his own story. Pressure relieved by being asked… instead of feeling he had to chase Shepard to get him to give a damn. 

“I will find him for you, Garrus.”

Garrus didn’t ask how long it would take. At the moment… Sidonis was the real future and that pressure, that impulse to chase him every moment was eased by Drell confidence. Garrus didn’t have to do a damned thing but he still wanted to.

A lot.

Garrus stood casually as though to go, held out a hand to the Drell as though to shake on a deal. Thane was too calm and cool to be startled, reached out his hand formally to seal a bargain ritually. There was more than one fire to be considered. Garrus pulled Thane out of his seat by the hand, appreciating the fluid grace of Thane’s change in position and balance. As promised he was at home with Garrus’s judgment and choices.

That was a lot of power.

Garrus wanted Thane to feel as wanted as he did right now, didn’t know how to do it and in reality he was probably more driven by scent, by potential taste, simmering curiosity and possibility.

Lust and kinship was a powerful thing, much better than isolation and pain.

Expecting that probably the Kirrisat’s artistry was the height of venom presentation and potential, he found himself very, very wrong as he pulled Thane up against his body, his tongue along the Drell’s frill and a tight arm around his waist. Very. Very wrong.

If the Kirrisat was a tease of possibilities, this was addiction. Garrus’s tongue and teeth played at the edges of red frill, Thane’s nails and fingertips along Garrus’s throat in parallel exploration. Garrus felt dizzy, bleary and suspended, tongue along rich ridges of venom and texture. Thane said softly in his ear “Garrus, my venom is powerful. There will come a day of no preoccupation, no goal other than each other. Our actions taken, our choices made. You know you are not mine until that day and you are not free now. I will provide for you to be free. I promise you.”

It was right and true, each stroke of his tongue drawing more promise in. Thane lifted Garrus’s head and kissed him, something new, richer and deeper venom, drifting and warm. “I cannot promise you safety in my presence, Garrus. I doubt you wish that.” Thane spent long moments with fingertips tugging at his fringe, lips along the pressure of mandible, along edges of bandage. Thane asked quietly “Does this injury pain you still?”

“Yes.”

“For now it will not. I know you are weary and in pain. Leave here and sleep. Sleep well, sleep without pain. Imagine what it is you want, what you need, and know you will have it.”

“What if that’s you?”

“Then the answer is yes and later.”

“I don’t like later.”

“You will.”

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO 

Later was two weeks, Thane and Garrus keeping an intimate distance, glances and surreptitious hands. Thane was right and he was driven, was preoccupied, anticipating and hungry for venom, for blood, for the promised Kirrisat.

He didn’t experience suspense as much as anticipation. Calmer, quieter, achieving the sense of team that was parallel to Shepard’s squad but again more intimate, more personal, sought out and not diminished by galactic concerns.

Shepard granted Thane and Garrus a shuttle on the excuse of personal business, brusque and disinterested. Jack was probably making things explode and Shepard had enough support, his only concern at the moment gathering more misfits. Shepard was overloaded and Garrus was no longer resentful, that pressure fading with the promise of more intimate things.

Thane had explained carefully that his venom was overwhelmingly hypnotic, addictive and Garrus could corroborate that conclusion, having spent a night without pain, dreaming under the combined hypnotic and hallucinatory - tiremit in Drell term - commands. Assassin venom was potent stuff. Best night of sleep he’d ever gotten.

No, Thane couldn’t offer him safety.

He could offer him sleep, the promise of sensory overload and lust… and a patient and passionate understanding of his own nature, acceptance of whatever the outcome.

That was a hell of a lot to be grateful for, and murder did not in fact cause a flicker in his conscience. It was vengeance and he was of the same mind as the Drell. Garrus carried the burden, the fault, the responsibility for their deaths. He would carry the burden, the fault, the responsibility, if any exacted, for any price vengeance demanded. It already demanded crushing guilt and failure and he’d had enough of crawling impotence and obsession. He couldn’t let the man go.

He didn’t let the man go. Shuttle docked in silence, Thane verified cameras and biometrics were bypassed, Sidonis sleeping. Whatever Garrus chose to do if it were confined to the apartment, any evidence would be removed and a body double with his credit line would take off for Omega and disappear into the lawlessness from whence he came.

Given the choice he did not… want to face Sidonis in a fair fight. Not at all. He wanted it as unfair as possible, as it had been for his squad.

And it was.

Thane was in the room but only as a facilitator, an observer and granted none of his own opinions regarding Garrus’s choices. Garrus’s fury and rage wasn’t contained exactly, but it also wasn’t a wild thing. It was controlled, quiet, as Sidonis was woken with talons around his throat.

Cold.

Garrus didn’t want to hear his story, didn’t care, didn’t let Sidonis speak, relished fear and pain, marks and wounds, one by one inflicted. Burns, gunshots, broken things… the only thing he asked Sidonis to say was the name of each person whose stigmata he was taking on one by one.

It ended the way it started, talons around a throat that couldn’t speak, no feeling or interest in what was in Sidonis’s eyes because all he cared about was that he couldn’t, wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t be heard, wouldn’t be understood, wouldn’t be remembered.

He looked down at the broken and now empty body and eyes of the man he’d been obsessed about ending. Powerfully cold. Ice and silence where there had been fire and frantic. All that was left of that fire was where it should be, lighting the faces and the lives of those he’d failed by taking this man into their presence and trusting him.

Cooler assuaged guilt that nobody else would fall prey to this man’s treachery.

His mind turned to where the body would go and he didn’t really care, only cared about the man who assured that the empty body and eyes would also go unavenged in any way by law enforcement, seeing a justice in that. Nobody’s eyes would see or care about Sidonis’s death the way Sidonis had condemned every member of his squad to that fate.

Now there were other fires, Garrus’s eyes slewing to where Thane stood, motionless, eyes unreadable, forgotten as intended until now. Allowing Garrus his own action still, Thane only watched as Garrus stalked over to him, stood with that ice and fire down into carefully impassive dark eyes, Garrus discovering layers of presumed intimacy in trust that began with a witnessed slit throat and ended with breath leaving one permanently.

There was no call for polite or permission in this room. Garrus picked up fluid and assisting Drell hips, shoved him against the wall and lowered his mouth to lick along his throat, adding the surge of venom to fire and ice in his blood, anticipating adding Reverie to it, overload and out of control. Consent was implied as hell, but he was still Turian, still needed to ask, and polite and permission didn’t have to be careful, could be and would be part of likely short foreplay. Garrus growled “Thank you. Now. NOW… everything else is gone and there’s only you. Now I’ve got nothing to feel but wanting you and unless you stop me I’m going to fuck you until I hear you scream.” He didn’t stop, teeth and tongue along slick frill and dizziness.

Thane said quietly, a blend of teasing and censure “Do not say fuck. If I wanted to simply fuck you I would not have gone to any trouble at all.”

“You did go out of your way for me. So you’re saying you want to be… poetically reamed?”

Thane laughed, a dark and knowing sound in vibrating waves at the phrasing, the sound making Garrus shove him harder against the wall, happy for an upgrade. “Glad you went to so much trouble, then. You don’t mind if I SAY… fuck… as in… ‘Fuck… you are the best thing I’ve ever felt, ever tasted.’ That’s okay?”

In answer Thane took Garrus’s mandibles in his hands and moved his mouth for a long lesson in kissing, something Turians didn’t do but would be doing from now on. Reverie and venom twined, Garrus imagining his knees would normally go weak but there was too much fire and ice holding everything up, strength and no weakness, spinning new sensation, mouth occupied with each other as their hands moved independently to remove armor, remove leather, vaguely realizing he could not rip the leather off of Thane because they needed to walk out of here reasonably presentable.

Thane provided the measured and patient with Garrus doing not much more than leaning in and down, venom soaking in through hide and tongue, losing the grip of ice as his plates opened, talons came out and teeth were bared, unwilling to alter any of those realities.

He had never felt better in his life, never had more of himself invested in a moment, every part of him straining at any delay or pause, adding the taste of Thane’s blood to his tongue, that piece causing a frenzy to his motions, talons still out as Thane somehow managed to get out of his last leathers, Garrus’s wide and warm palm along Thane’s scaled thigh, new texture and need.

A deep well recently filled with vengeance was carved and empty, waiting and wanting to be filled with this man, his scent, his Spirit and all the moans he could drag out of him. He had a living, breathing Kirrisat of scale and venom, overwhelming victory, and he would not let go. 

Thane’s hands glided along his cock, Garrus’s own hand splaying flat against Thane’s thigh in a paused convulsive grip that didn’t dig in talons… too deep… just enough for tips touched with blood.

“You’re killing me, Kirrisat.”

“You could not afford that. I will get you as close as possible.”

Garrus growled and leaned further, venom and Reverie, weakness and said “And as often as possible.”

“As you wish.”

Not trusting to his own hands yet, convulsive and blood tipped, he waited until he could control himself, which was not soon or at all, mouth learning to kiss and venom on his cock from talented hands, harsh breath and whispers of his new name. The unaccustomed strength of everything in his blood made him feel he was going to lose himself, lose the chance to possess the moment, possess the man, near panic while fighting back all the melting warmth that threatened to topple him. Shifting, he was careful but determined, took Thane’s hands off his cock, gathered his other hand and pinned them above his head, lifting the Drell with a hand to his ass and shifting position until Thane’s knees were bent to either side of his cowl – Spirits, the man’s flexibility – his palm positioning him right where Garrus wanted him with a lift and a shift, his cock slick and Thane’s body the textured and venom-saturated scale encompassing and brightly sharp in realized pleasure on the thrust inside, on staying, on lowering Thane until he was seated in his Kirrisat, home and harbor.

He finally had all the control he needed, over his body, over this man, over his past, and over whatever future he faced. Thane was pinned and Garrus was bliss-soaked and striving, twisting inside and listening to dark moans from his Kirrisat’s mouth.

Garrus’s hand, wide and warm and venom slick palm closed around Thane’s cock, twitching and straining in his grip. He was exactly where he wanted to be and had all the time he could want, pleasure and promise guaranteed for now, for the future, the promise of sharing dark and rich things. Garrus promised him “You’re going to come for me. Then again. Then again. I’m going to stay inside you until you can’t talk, until you don’t know my name.”

“I will always know your name, Garrus.”

Garrus huffed a laugh and said “Okay. Until you can’t say it.”

Thane smiled and said slowly “Drell have excellent memories.”

“Drell make excellent memories.”

The steady bliss of Reverie was sparked with the hallucinogenic edge of tiremit and everything being right, slow strokes of his palm and bites at Thane’s throat, listening to moans and caught breath.

Garrus kept his promise, held Thane there, just there, the rise and fall of his cock a new tide in his hands, slick and timeless until exhaustion began to overtake bliss and Thane’s voice was cracked and straining. 

Thane never did forget his name.

He’d have to work on that.

He would… work on that.

He could barely remember his own name and they had to be able to walk out of here.

They did… eventually… calm and balanced, improvement in weight lifted from Garrus’s shoulders and the haunted feel of his Spirit gone, replaced by Kirrisat confidence and more kinds of bliss in his blood than he could quantify or cared to.

He’d take his miracle, finally his own miracle.


End file.
